


Fear-Boners and Other Methods of Flirting

by AlreadyBoss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, BAMF Peter Hale, BAMF Stiles, Daddy Kink, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Prostitute Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlreadyBoss/pseuds/AlreadyBoss
Summary: Stiles has always been too observant and too good at putting the pieces together for his own good. When his latest customer opens his eyes not only to the explanation to all the strange happenings in his own life, but the wider supernatural world as a whole, he knows he should back off and focus on keeping himself out of trouble. But Stiles has always valued answers over his own safety.If Peter were ever going to admit to having a weakness, it would be cunning people with flexible morality. The painfully pretty rent boy he picks up the night a job starts going south seems to have an abundance of both. And a mouth made for filthy pleasures. But that keen mind is a double edged sword, because the boy sees too much, involves himself in too much and with an old enemy making a reappearance, weaknesses of any kind are something Peter doesn't have the luxury of affording.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I need to add a little disclaimer to say that this story is not meant to reflect my own personal thoughts/attitudes toward sex work. Any opinions expressed are that of the characters and meant to fit within the framework of this particular story only.

“Want some company tonight, daddy?” 

 

Packed with as much invitation and promise as he could muster, the question poured itself out of Stiles’ mouth like molten sex to scorch the already humid evening air and turn it even steamier without much input from his brain. He didn’t know why he asked. More than just being the result of his usual lack of brain-to-mouth filter, this particular inquiry felt like something pulled from somewhere deep inside him, a secret place of instinct and powerful urges he’d previously been unaware of, rather than something he’d actually consciously wanted. 

 

The guy coming down the street toward him didn’t look like his usual type, and he didn’t look like the type any part of Stiles’s offer would appeal to either. Mid to late thirties, dark hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw covered in just the right amount of stubble to be purposeful, and what looked like it was probably a fantastic body hovering somewhere between slim and muscular under a tailored suit; he was too hot to fit in with Stiles’ regular customers. He was too hot to look like he  _ needed  _ to pay for sex, but had an easy confidence that suggested he probably didn’t  _ want  _ to either. He looked like he belonged on some romance novel cover, something titled  _ The CEO and his Busty Secretary _ or some shit. Or. He was one sexy sneer and smoldering look from being the thumbnail for some daddy porn. Jesus fuck, no one in history had ever looked  _ less _ like they needed a hooker to get their dick wet than this man.

 

The suit and shoes were expensive though - designer - Armani or something; Stiles had never gotten as good at spotting individual designers or brands as some of the other working boys he knew. The guy clearly had money, and there was no other reason for someone like that to be in this part of town with all its noise and neon and the smell of hot garbage that never entirely went away even in the winter. Powerful, successful, moneyed men usually came to this part of town looking for only one thing, and damn if Stiles didn’t want to give it to him for some baffling reason. He looked both soft and hard at the same time, like the type that thought simply having the right name and enough money meant he was working hard. Stiles didn’t mind fucking entitled men, but he usually preferred to be the only one acting bratty in the equation. Someone so pampered and used to being catered to more than likely couldn’t satisfy the rising need in him. Why on earth had he thought it was a good idea to proposition him?

 

That he’d even opened his mouth at all was surprising. Technically, Stiles wasn’t even working the corner tonight. Technically. Stiles didn’t work the streets for the money, not anymore. There’d been a time in his life where he’d paid his bills with time spent on his back and while he was glad he was no longer in such desperate circumstances, he found it was a hard life to let himself fall out of. There hadn’t been much shame in it for Stiles. Every now and then it had flared up, but it had always been a weak and quickly doused flame. While he couldn’t say that he’d enjoyed every encounter in his past, Stiles had actually enjoyed being a sex worker in general terms. There was an itch that would start up underneath his skin, a pull in his gut he’d start being unable to ignore, and the only thing that would make them dissipate would be letting someone pay to use him as they wanted.

 

Which made for a convenient explanation for his current bout of impulsiveness, but… It had only been a week since his last trick. The itch hadn’t settled between his flesh and bones yet. And still, the words hung in the air between them, like a soap bubble ready to pop at the slightest wrong move. Stiles tempered the abrupt offer with a smile that rode the line between flirty and slutty  _ hard _ . Trembling anticipation began pooling in his gut suffusing him with a flickering sort of warmth. He hadn’t really wanted this man before, but holy hell, did he ever want him  _ now,  _ and it was so fucking confusing. He didn’t look like he was capable of, or had much inclination to, give Stiles anything he was craving. Perversely, that just made Stiles crave it from him all the more.

 

The preppy bastard had frozen at Stiles’s question, and now he turned with his lips stretched in a faint curl of amusement while he looked Stiles over from head to toe. Perusal complete, he glanced over his shoulder, clearly checking to see if there was anyone else on the street who might see him talking to a hooker. 

 

Heat crept across Stiles’s cheeks, his whole face feeling too hot. Embarrassed and angry about feeling embarrassed, Stiles’ brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to tell the asshole exactly where he could fuck off to and how hard to fuck himself when he got there, when the guy cut Stiles’s words off by offering a genuine smile. A heart-stopping, breath-takingly attractive smile. Stiles snapped his mouth shut and waited, nostrils flaring in something like impatience. He wasn’t actually sure what the emotion rolling around in his belly was - the hot, tangled knot of it making him feel like it was about to knock something loose - other than confusion. He didn’t know when the last time someone had shown the ability to make him feel like something lesser because he got paid for sex was. He didn’t know when the last time he’d wanted someone that displayed no sign of roughing him him up in exactly the right way was. He didn’t know when the last time he’d let something as pathetic as  _ need _ get away from him so thoroughly was. It wasn’t a comfortable thing to be introspective about.

 

The man’s lips kept curling up at the corners, expression becoming something beyond simple appreciation. “I could, in fact, use a bit of company at the present moment. Work is currently putting me in the unenviable position of needing a distraction, and as distractions go, I’d guess you would be a far more  _ pleasant  _ diversion than anything else I’d come up with.” There was a teasing quality to his tone that combined with the confident way he moved and spoke made it clear he was poking fun at something - or  _ someone _ .

 

Stiles would have assumed it was him that had been made the butt of the unspoken joke, only - something about the tilt of his mouth and the light in his eyes gave Stiles got the impression that the guy wasn’t laughing  _ at  _ Stiles, but  _ with  _ him. They were sharing a joke, but Stiles wasn’t in on it, had no idea what was funny. Though he’d be damned if the curve of this dude’s smile didn’t make him want to know  _ desperately _ . He licked his lips, nervous gesture turned enticement halfway through, understanding they were  _ both  _ putting on a show. Even if he had lost the thread somewhere and had no idea who the audience was supposed to be. Because he had no idea who this guy could be playing to. Surely he had to know Stiles was a sure thing; that was the whole  _ point _ of paying for it, yeah?

 

Questions. Everything about this guy was question after question and Stiles  _ burned _ with the need to answer them. Even though what he should be doing was shutting this guy down and heading in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. This level of interest and investment was bound to be painful for him at some point (and not the good kind of painful, either), but Stiles had never been one to let good sense get in the way of his curiosity. Subtly, he shifted his whole body, cocking his hips a little more, ducking his head slightly, deepening the curve of his spine incrementally;  _ displaying _ himself to his best advantage, knowing his too-tight jeans and too-short, too-thin shirt would do the rest of the work. “Of course. And just how would you like me to  _ distract _ you, daddy?” he whispered, trying to get this thing back on familiar ground. He refused to let some arrogant prick rattle him, no matter how pretty his face was.

 

Interest flared in the other man’s eyes and he swept an assessing gaze over Stiles’s frame top to bottom again. This time it was heavier, searching out more than his first appraisal had.

 

Stiles wanted to preen under the attention. He bit his lip to keep the smile that wanted to take over his face from doing so. This man looked at him differently than most did. He wasn’t presumptuous or possessive or even simply lustful; he was  _ predatory.  _ He didn’t look at Stiles like he owned him; he looked at Stiles like he wanted to  _ consume _ him. In the moment, Stiles had the absurd desire to beg to be devoured.

 

Meeting Stiles’s gaze once more the other man smiled again. There was the smallest wisp of hunger still lurking below the expression even though he’d mostly put it in check. “We should continue this conversation in a more private location.” It was phrased as a suggestion, but woven through with enough steel that it had that air of someone who wasn’t used to having  _ suggestions  _ ignored.

 

Careful not to commit to anything and appear merely curious, Stiles tilted his head to the side. “You have somewhere in mind?”

 

Something like relief passed across the other man’s expression and his posture became less tense in some indefinable but noticeable way. “I’m staying at a hotel a few blocks away.”

 

Crawling unease snaked it’s way down Stiles’s spine and he stiffened. That was vague, and it usually wasn’t safe to accept vague answers and assurances in this line of work. “You realize it’s pay to play, right bro? I’m not going anywhere ‘til we talk money.” And limits. Jesus, that’s what he should have said; what he’d  _ meant  _ to say. Right up until he opened his mouth. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why in the hell did he want to give this guy the impression that he wasn’t being cautious with him? That  _ for him  _ there might not  _ be _ any limits. Wait. What? Obviously he didn’t mean that, not even in the privacy of his own head. His imagination was just getting overactive again, surely.

 

Mr. Armani Suit blinked in mild surprise. “I assure you, despite the angelic face,” he paused to flutter his obscenely long eyelashes exaggeratedly, “I am aware that when a pretty boy hanging out on a street corner asks if you want company, he expects you to pay for the privilege. Don’t worry, you’ll be well compensated for your time, but I really must insist we move these negotiations off the street.”

 

Stiles frowned, thinking. The guy was definitely good, Stiles would give him that. Every inch of him was perfectly polished, appearance and mannerisms crafted to project charm. He probably fooled a lot of people with his near perfect act, but Stiles was an expert at pretending to be someone he wasn’t; he could recognize mastery of the same skill in others with relative ease. Something about this man set off all Stiles’s internal danger alarms, like he worked so hard at coming across smooth so no one noticed his rough edges. He was trouble, Stiles could feel it, and that was something Stiles definitely didn’t need any more of. And yet… god he  _ wanted _ it. Wasn’t that what he kept showing up on the corners for, when it came right down to it? He nodded once, a short, sharp gesture. “Yeah okay. But you better make it worth my time.”

 

Excitement flared briefly in the other man’s expression before he tamped it down. “I do so love a challenge,” he answered, the slightest hint of a growl in his tone.

  
Stiles shivered in anticipation. It was going to be  _ so good _ to be this man’s challenge, prod at his predatory instincts. Trouble indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful [Herbeloved82](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Herbeloved82/works) gave this a look for me. Thank you dear one!
> 
> Oh yeah, and come visit me on [tumblr](https://bedtimestorieswithboss.tumblr.com/)

His companion was quiet on the walk to the hotel, which didn’t surprise Stiles at all. He also had his hand resting against the small of Stiles’s back, guiding him every now and then with the smallest hints of suggestive pressure, which did surprise him. What was this guy’s deal? He just refused to make any sense. He was so determined not to be seen with a rent boy that he wanted to get them stashed away in his hotel room before he discussed money and services that you’d think he wouldn’t want to touch Stiles in public either. An idea sparked at the base of Stiles’ skull. Maybe he wanted to get Stiles alone before discussing what he wanted for reasons other, and more nefarious,  than embarrassment.

 

Fear should have been the next thing prickling its way through Stiles’ brain, chasing that thought like a bloodhound on a scent trail. Excitement slithered through his veins, fat and slow, tempting in its hypnotic pulse. There was something very wrong with Stiles and his inappropriate reactions to fear stimuli. He should probably care more about that than he did.

 

They walked at a comfortable, yet brisk pace. Their strides were similar enough that they synced up fairly well and there was no uncomfortable bumping and jostling. Just the pleasant brush of shoulders with every step, a whisper of touch that made Stiles yearn for the scream, and that hand, broad and steady burning a brand at the small of Stiles’ back. Ordinarily, he would bristle under such a possessive touch, but right now Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything other than eager to get this man alone and pull him apart. Stiles wanted to use his teeth and nails to bite and claw at all the protective layers of gentility covering that beast he’d caught glimpses of stalking back and forth behind the cracks in his walls. Stiles wanted to know if they were there to protect him from anyone getting close, or to protect everyone else from  _ him _ .

 

It was only because they were pressed so close that Stiles noticed when the other man went tense all over, body stiffening just enough to be barely perceptible. The other man’s eyes no longer darted here and there to take in their surroundings, but focused on a single point with a strange intensity.

 

Stiles turned his head a little, intending to ask if there was a problem, but the startlingly hostile look on the other man’s face had the question dying instantly in his throat. Looking at him now, there was no doubt that this man was dangerous. Again, Stiles’ admittedly lazy self-preservation instincts raised the half-hearted suggestion that he start being wary of this man; he opted to let that look pass without comment and see what it was that had ruffled this man so much instead.

 

When Stiles looked back up, there was another group of men that had just rounded the corner and was now walking toward them. Four in total, they walked in a loose knot of bodies, close enough to obviously be a group, but still sort of fanned out. They were dressed oddly for the area - too nice to be from around here, but not nice enough to be obviously slumming it. At first glance they might appear drunk, loud and stumbling with joviality. There was an underlying hardness, a  _ preparedness _ that belied that though. Was everyone out tonight trying to convince any passers-by that they were harmless when reality was oh so different? What the hell was going on here?

 

The hand on Stiles’ back jerked before resettling, like the man had wanted to remove it and then thought better of it, coming to the conclusion it would only make him look guiltier.  He did look away from the other men and shrink in on himself, a rather obvious attempt to avoid their notice as much as possible.

 

All thoughts about the ways the other group was just  _ off _ shattered when Stiles registered his companion’s behavior. He clenched his jaw against the spill of annoyed words climbing up his throat. There was something about them, maybe the way they carried themselves, or the way they weren’t concerned at all that they were taking up the entirety of the sidewalk, that pinged Stiles’ Pay Attention! alarm, but he ignored that in favor of chewing on his frustration over the other man’s reaction to them. Obviously Stiles had been wrong before about him not caring if they were seen together. He  _ hated _ that he even cared, hated that this man had the power to make him feel the sort of shame he hadn’t felt since his very first customer. Hated that this man had any sort of power over him at all. Stiles had long since stopped caring what the world thought of him; who was this man to come in and run roughshod over that hard-won defense?

 

Stiles’ companion leaned closer, his lips just brushing the shell of Stiles’s ear to whisper, “let’s move to the other side of the street - less crowded.” The deep rumble his voice was infused with tried to turn the comment into something suggestive, but there was still too much tension lingering in the tone to quite get there. The pressure he put on the small of Stiles’ back was just a shade too much, too difficult to ignore, for the change in paths to seem casual. 

 

Swallowing down a wash of humiliation, Stiles followed the instruction and altered the direction of his stride to cross the street. He should tell this asshole he’d rather get laid by a cactus and get the fuck out of here. He should take his beleaguered pride, wrap it around himself like a cloak to remind him of just how tough it was, and go home to lick his wounds and figure out how this dude had managed to slip past all his defenses. He couldn’t bring himself to do any of that. That he couldn’t begin to fathom why was the kicker

 

The other man trailed behind him easily, seemingly mollified now that Stiles was doing what he wanted. Typical of men who’d never known the feeling of being in the weaker position, placated simply by getting their way.

 

Once they’d both made it to the other sidewalk, Stiles resumed walking forward purposefully, refusing to look over at his john. If he was actually going to go through with this date, he should be trying not to let his true thoughts show. His muscles were so locked with tension and rage shimmered so hotly beneath his skin the he knew that was an impossibility.

 

The other man’s gaze slid sideways to study Stiles’ expression. “Are you alright?” he asked, showing an unexpected awareness of Stiles’ change in mood. Somehow he seemed genuinely curious. 

 

Which again was so entirely unexpected for the picture of his personality Stiles had painted that it drew Stiles up short. Ugh. Couldn’t this man have the decency to just fit into the little box in his mind Stiles had constructed for him? Of course not. Stiles wouldn’t still be walking next to him if he did; a good mystery to untangle turned Stiles on more than anything else. The thought pissed him off all over again. “Yep,” Stiles answered, popping the “p” obnoxiously.  _ Shit. Too real; dial it back Stiles. _ He flashed a too-wide grin vaguely in his customer’s direction. “I’m just excited about getting you alone, daddy,” he purred.

 

The other man hummed noncommittally, but didn’t comment further. He also didn’t replace his hand on the small of Stiles’s back.

 

Stiles noticed he also didn’t even bother to pick back up the pretense that he wasn’t alertly scanning their surroundings constantly. The hyper vigilance grated, but Stiles said nothing and kept walking. The difference in the mood between them now versus how’d they’d been before the other men appeared was stark. Stiles glared vaguely in the direction of the strangers in a fit of misdirected pique before he realized how stupid he was being.

 

And noticed that all four of them were staring back and studying Stiles and his john intently. Too intently. Stiles had grown up with a cop as a father, he knew what suspicion looked like. That little flare of  _ something not right _ perked up again, and Stiles had the distinct feeling he was missing a vital piece of the picture. Everything in him was tensed, expecting  _ something _ to happen, even if he had no clue what.

 

The other men moved beyond them on the other side of the road without incident though, leaving Stiles without an opportunity to grab onto that piece. He half thought that once the group of them got far enough away, that his customer might go back to his previous behavior, but he didn’t. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was annoyed by that or not. He  _ was  _ pretty sure that if there was ever a time to cut his losses and run from this man and the uncomfortable feelings he stirred within him, it was now.

 

Stiles kept walking and let the shadows, and the oppressive heat, and the stillness of the night air fill him as full to bursting as the uneasy quiet did. Intrigue and danger. Stiles knew what got him off harder than anything else. And he knew you didn’t get to slice yourself open on the knife’s edge of either when you did things like cut your losses.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of this foolishness for you.
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://bedtimestorieswithboss.tumblr.com/) if you are so inclined.

The hotel they ended up at was not at all what Stiles expected--it was fucking  _ nice. _ Just about every conceivable surface was made of marble, crisply uniformed staff were posted in multiple locations to attend to guests’ every need, large arrangements of exotic flowers peppered about the lobby. This was not the kind of hotel you took a hooker to, but Stiles’s john didn’t seem bothered by that in the slightest. Or even aware of it, really.

 

For a guy who’d been so concerned about someone seeing them on the corner, and avoiding anyone seeing them during the walk over, he didn’t seem at all worried about marching Stiles flagrantly through the lobby toward the elevators comfortably tucked into his side for all the other snobby guests to see. Even when the doorman gave Stiles a look that said he wasn’t even good enough to be shit on the bottom of this guy’s shoe.

 

The - gold plated? seriously? - elevator doors slid open smoothly and the other man wordlessly ushered Stiles forward with gentle pressure between his shoulder blades.

 

Stiles went where he was directed happily, once again thrilling at a touch he would normally find far too possessive. It was unexpectedly nice, like this hotel, and it settled something dark and writhing in Stiles’ brain that he hadn’t even realized was wriggling loose.

 

When a few more of the hotel’s guests stepped on behind them, Stiles expected the other man to put some distance between them, feign disinterest, or pretend outright that he didn’t know Stiles, who was clearly a prostitute.

 

Instead, the other man gently drew Stiles to his side and the hand at the small of his back made a reappearance. It fit neatly in the dip of his spine, and the other man spread his fingers slightly, like he wanted to maximize the area his touch covered.

 

The casual way this man claimed him was both shocking and arousing. Stiles breathed in deeply to hide his reaction and settled back against the shiny wall of the carriage. He told himself he was being infinitely stupid. So this man was willing to touch him in public? It was no reason to get doe-eyed and flustered about him. It wasn’t any cause for  _ affection _ towards him.

 

When the doors closed, the heavily made up woman standing in front of them met Stiles’s eye in the reflection, a sneer twisting her red-painted lips. She was clearly old in more than just age: old-fashioned, old money, old-school etiquette.

 

Something about people like her got under Stiles’ skin and dug at his composure. It was true her attitude was offensive, but there was nothing overtly aggressive about it; there was no reason Stiles should be thinking that the best defense was a good offense. He just couldn’t help himself though. Not pulling his attention from the woman’s reflection, Stiles curled his lips into the most suggestive smirk he could manage. “What floor, daddy?” he asked his companion, making his voice go high and soft in a parody of innocence. His heart sped up with a wash of adrenaline and excitement. Pushing the envelope was Stiles’ favorite pastime.

 

The look of disgust on the woman’s face deepened and the red mottling pattern on her skin was visible even beneath the heavy layer of foundation.

 

Stiles’s smirk widened to a triumphant grin until he remembered he probably should have been more concerned about upsetting the guy who was supposed to be paying him, rather than getting to the nasty old biddy on the elevator. His gaze snapped over to his john’s in the mirrored surface, hoping he hadn’t pushed things too far.

 

There was nothing to worry about though, as the other man’s amusement was plain for both Stiles and the judgmental cow to see when he answered, “Number eleven, if you’d be so kind, Madame,” in a voice as smooth and rich as dark chocolate. The words were directed at the other woman, but he never looked away from Stiles’ face, expression somewhere between delight and challenge.

 

It should be impossible to pack as much disdain into a single unamused snort as the woman did before leaning forward to jab the buttons for both their floor and her own with more force than was strictly necessary.

 

There were audible snickers from the few other occupants, but Stiles didn’t care about them enough to look over and check their reactions. He flashed a conspiratorial smile at his companion.

 

The other man tucked his mischievous body language away even as his eyes still sparkled with it. He let the hand at the small of Stiles’ back creep down over the curve of his ass and leaned over to whisper, “such a bad boy,” in his ear. There was quite a bit more encouragement than admonishment in the words.

 

It was enthralling, the idea that Stiles was being rewarded for what most people would consider going too far, that he might be rewarded further still for pushing even more. It was thrilling in a wicked, dangerous way to feel like he and his customer were in on something together. He bit his lip to hold in a burst of laughter and turned forward again. Heat pooled low in his gut, his nerve endings sparkling. He was horrified to feel his groin tingling with an influx of blood, dick thickening up just a little. Why was he so easy for this man? He looked down at the floor and smiled softly. “That doesn't sound like much of a complaint.”

 

The other man squeezed his handful of Stiles’ ass lightly and hummed in agreement, but didn't offer anything further. 

 

Stiles had no problem letting the silence settle over the cramped interior of the elevator. While there was a tension there between them and the other guests, it felt altogether too comfortable between him and his john. 

 

A few floors later, the carriage stopped and the doors opened to let the sneering woman off. Stiles lifted his gaze to make eye contact with her in the reflection. “Have a nice night,” he cooed with a too-wide smile and a cheerful wave. It probably wasn’t necessary; he’d already made his point. But damn if it wasn’t fun anyway.

 

The woman harrumphed and stomped off the elevator without saying anything or sparing either of them another glance.

 

When they started moving again, the other man leaned over to put his lips against Stiles’s ear. “I get the feeling you’re going to be trouble with a capital ‘T’ aren’t you, darling?”

 

Stiles bit his lip and tipped his head to the side slightly. “But trouble’s exactly what you’re looking for tonight, isn’t it, daddy?” There was something too raw in the question, not enough of the teasing air they'd cultivated between them previously, and Stiles held his breath waiting for the other man’s response without really knowing why or exactly what he’d been asking. 

 

The other man pulled back and raked a considering look over Stiles from head to toe. “I wouldn’t have thought so before, but I think you’ve convinced me.” It was said with the air of someone being more honest than they’d intended as well.

 

Mollified by the sincerity he could hear in the other man’s tone, Stiles grinned and looked up at him through his eyelashes. “Good. But if you're still unsure, I promise to be very persuasive when we get to your room.”

 

There was a sharp inhale from someone else still sharing the space with them, a reminder that they were not, in fact, alone despite how intimate the moment felt. They both ignored the sound. 

 

The other man smirked. “I’ve always appreciated a strong work ethic in others.”

 

The elevator stopped on their floor and the doors slid open. Stiles stepped off without waiting for direction to do so, not caring at all if it made him look eager. That was the role his patrons usually requested of him anyway; what difference would it make if this time he wasn’t playing? “Then I promise to work  _ real _ hard tonight, daddy,” he offered over his shoulder. 

 

The hungry growl that came from right behind him should have worried Stiles. Instead it sent a shiver of delicious anticipation up his spine. 


End file.
